Saigon planes attack (February 12, 1973)

ALONG ROUTE 13, Vict Nam-It Is 2 o clock on a lazy Sunday , and my and I ate: sitting on benches In' a small hilt betide the road talking tb a.. young Vltnambe .

!h* it dragging OWhtewhat .ve ate awaiting the arrival of a North Vietnamese army colonel who commands all the Communist troops on a five-mile stretch of road between the towns of Lai Khe and Chon Thanh on Route 13 some' 40 miles north of Sai- gon.

"Big guns shoot here," says the lieutenant, named Tran Kim, and we all turn and look at a cloud billowing on the horizon two or miles away.

I AM NOT Iwpressed be- cause obviously- the North Vietnalnese are putting on a slight propaganda,,show for us. I have driven on-up the road froth Saigon to see if it s pos- sible to get all the way to the town on' the same, road where the 'Viet Cang are releasing 27 American prisoners of war held in south Vipt Nam and Cambodia.

My driver and I have left

our car at the last South Viet- namese outpost two miles be- hind us where barbed Wire crosses Route 13. The road cuts clear and flat across this desolate waste of scrub tint for which and

o i t h Vlettilaese fought ohe of the longest bet tiet el the war April L,

The *hbn he At- rives a few minutes later. that he is the chief of tNh gate" and has been fighting along this road since 1970.

"EVERY DAY, they bomb and rocket this area," the lieu- tenant goes on, as my drivet Interprets for fne, but it Is ha-d to any real oint- bing on this particular after- noon. Then he orders the sol- dier who first met us to go across the road and find the , *ho he can tell Us "."

"The government soldiers can come here to talk too," says the , pleasantly. "But they leave their weapons behind."

It Is so hot and I am so bored by this that I am beginning to fall asleep when we bear the crump of a bomb a mile or so away;

It Is so commonplace, this sound of exploding bombs, that hohe of us even turns to look, the it does vaguely occur

to me that these bombs are not "friendly" any more, or if they "friendly", that I am definitely in unfriendly ter- .

THIS IDLE thought evapo- rates as the - final- ly emerges from the bush, ac- companied by a young Soldier. named Vinh, who speaks Eng- lish.

I could concentrate Some- what better OI what were saying If it weren't for those explosions a mile or so away.

"Don't f e a r-far away," says Vinh, and we get on with the Interview. "The command- er S name is Truong minh Saih," Vinh writes carefully in mhy notebook-the whole , not just the name.

I am eager to begin asking questions when a rocket lands 100 feet ahead of us. it Is fired trom , and All of us turn and look toward the nearest shelter, a typical bamboo- fighting hole, but Vinh, the commander, and I keep on talking.

THE FIRST on osition a couple hun- dred feet away. I notice the commander Is a green shift, blue fatigues, and black Ho Chl Mlink am he ahd the rest of tit up and *ait for just a to decide where to tun.

The commander and

soldier jump Into the nearest fighting hole. Two more run across the road, Vinh waves for me to follow, but my driv- er shouts for us to begin walk- Ing back to the cat.

Nallther of us wants to get caught on the North Vietnam- esi side. Besides, *e cannot the bombing wilt go on the South Vietnamese at the last know Tb:-re here and no one has the North VIetnamese position since it went up on the night of the signing of the cease-fire agreement in Paris two weeks ago.

WE ARIE ON the road, walk- Ing, when we hear the distant .jet of the next born. Aimn. We hit the, ditch at the graceful long whistle of the next 500-pound bomb and are up running a second after It explodes In a cloud of bleak kend gray smoke 50 feet away.

We cannot run back to the o r t h Vletnamese fighting holes because we do not know where they are anymore. We must keep on the road or the pilots see our movement In the bush and kill us with their miniguns.

We hit It again at the sound of the next whistle, again the road 50 feet away, but we know we cannot run for tWo . lIe walk and walk ahd hit. We must get

away, away from t he North Vietnamese outpost,

I am hoping the.South Viet- namese khow we are civilians -my driver s shirt is white and mine is yellow-but I know they have mistaken us fol the N o k t h Viethamese when the hext ltds.- 100 feet ahead of tits on our of the toad.

WE NOT the - der of the td us this tinie, and tie dirt and shrapnel files it dts, Wint are unhurt and up and walking.

It is the moment in between the strikes when the fear claws at you, and you wonder why you are here and If you will get out Alive and are sure you will not but you have to keep on walking.

You are walking again as the jets gracefully curl away into the blue and you wonder can they do this again, they must have expended their bombs by now .

But they are a pair-two F-5 Freedom Fighters with six 500-pounders , and they are determined to get you, and they keep coming back, drop- ping one at a time..

TIHE PLANES finally have unloaded all their bombs, and they are coming in now only on strafing runs. We keep walking without jumping now at the scream of the diving

Jet, and thei we see the dots of South Vietnamese 9 far down the road, and a tow- er over the last South Viet- namese outpost, and the fear begins to lift.

We are safe when we cross the first strip of barbed wire across the road. We suspect that some South Vietnamese commander deliberately called in the strikes on us to keep reporters from meeting the North Vietnamese, particular- ly since the window of our car had a sign saying "bao chi" for reporter.

But we do not ask questions. We just drive and do not begin talking until we reach a road- side soft drink stand 15 miles to the south.

Then my driver notices 'his watch is gone, lost in one of those dives In the dlt. OYou buy me new watch," he says with a grin, and we are alive and we laugh.